


The Promise You Made

by Schattengestalt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Child Neglect, Crying, Fluff, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidlock, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thunderstorm is raging outside and Sherlock is terrified. He does not dare going to Mycroft and asking for comfort, since Sherlock is sure that his older brother does not want to see him... ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Promise You Made

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing another story about the Holmes` brothers when they were younger... and so I did. :) I wish everyone a wonderful weekend and enjoy this story! :)

### The Promise You Made

Lightening!

 

Twenty-one, twenty-two...a loud crackling.

 

Thunder, Sherlock`s mind supplied, even as he blocked his ears with his hands and whimpered. The wind was howling outside, droving the rain in front of it. Heavy drops whipped against the house walls. The shutters juddered in the wind and... another lightning!

 

Sherlock flinched back against the headboard of his bed as the light flashed through the shutters of his room. He didn`t even have the time to count the seconds, since the growl of the thunder followed the lightning right away. Sherlock brought his knees up to his chest and slung his thin arms around them, pressing his body into the far corner of his bed against the wall. He had known that a thunderstorm was coming, when he had gone outside today. The air had been warm and humid. Logic dictated that it would move upwards, cool and condense in a certain high and form cumulonimbus clouds. At some point the air reached its dew point and water droplets and ice formed and...

 

Sherlock grabbed his teddy bear and pressed him against his chest as another lightening illuminated the darkness. He knew perfectly well how thunderstorms came into being and how you could classify them in different categories and why...

 

"Myc," Sherlock whined, with his nose pressed into the fluffy belly of his teddy bear as the wind grew stronger. They were right in the middle of the thunderstorm and if Sherlock`s calculations from the day were correct than another one would follow after that one. Maybe there would even be a third one.

 

Blue eyes glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Two in the morning. It would take at least another couple of hours until the storms died down and by then, Sherlock was sure, that he wouldn`t be able to get back to sleep. Usually, it didn`t bother him to stay up longer than most children his age did. But then, he wasn`t most children, Sherlock had realized that much at a young age. The two years at primary school had proven to him that he was much smarter than his peers and most of his teachers. They were all so slow and talked about unnecessary things that no one was interested in.

 

Sherlock stroked the soft ear of his teddy and bit his lip as the thunder rolled around the house. Why should it be important if there were living beings on the Mars or any other planet? Human technology wasn`t developed far enough to make such travels possible, and even if they were... what would be the point of it? It wasn`t relevant to the life on earth. Even less so than football.

 

Sherlock grimaced as he thought of that stupid game and how his classmates had made him play the goal keeper. There only goal had been to hit Sherlock with the ball. At that day, he had gone home with a bleeding nose and scratched knees. Still, his classmates hadn`t been satisfied with the results, because Sherlock had suppressed his tears and only glared at them when he had left the school. Needless to say that they had tried even harder to make him cry afterwards, but without success. Sherlock had learned from his former mistake of going outside between school hours and had spent his breaks at the library from that day on. His classmates hadn`t been able to attack him there.

 

Oh, how happy would they be now to see him like that?! Sherlock sniffed, but he didn`t try to hold back the tears that ran down his cheeks as the thunderstorm ranted on. He was aware that it was pathetic for a eight-year-old to be afraid of thunderstorms, especially when he was at home - the house had a lightening conductor - but Sherlock couldn`t help himself. Thunderstorms were terrifying. The lightning and thunder, the wind and the rain, all those noises flooded Sherlock`s senses and left him trembling with fear and remembered horror.

 

He was four years old.

A thunderstorm was blowing outside and Sherlock was terrified. He couldn`t remember having ever witnessed something like that before. Stumbling out of his bed and clutching his teddy to his chest, Sherlock left his room and lumbered through the hallway. Mother and Father had made it clear to him that he wasn`t allowed into their bedroom, if it wasn`t an emergency. The frightening lights and noises certainly felt like an emergency to Sherlock.

Slowly, he opened the door to the bedroom of his parents. It wasn`t so late, his mother was still reading in bed and his father was just about to climb in when Sherlock stepped over the doorstep.

"What is it, Sherlock?" His father sounded annoyed at his presence and Sherlock wondered if he should have gone to his brother, when another lightening stroke. He flinched and whimpered. A second later, Sherlock realized that he had made a mistake.

"You disturb us, because you are afraid of a little thunderstorm." His father sounded aggravated as he crossed the room and grabbed Sherlock`s arm.

"Father," Sherlock protested weakly as he was dragged from the room. His mother didn`t even glance up from her book.

His father brought Sherlock to the winter garden, where the flashes of light were even more frightening due to the glass ceiling. "You will stay here, tonight, so that you learn your lesson and never bother us again."

Sherlock sniffed, pressing his teddy against him. That was another mistake. Before he could even cry out, his father had grabbed his teddy bear and marched with him to the other side of the winter garden. Sherlock ran behind him, begging and crying as his father opened the back door to the garden and threw his teddy bear outside, before closing the door again.

"Teddy!" Sherlock sobbed as he sank to his knees. Mycroft had given that teddy to him at his last birthday. It was the first cuddly toy, Sherlock had ever owned and now...

Sherlock barely felt the sting of the slap on his face as his father showed him how much he disliked Sherlock`s display of weakness. Crying was a weakness. Crying was forbidden. Sherlock knew that, he had been told over and over again that tears were only allowed when someone had died, since he could remember. He was aware that he should stop sobbing, but he couldn`t. His chest hurt from the sobs that kept coming and Sherlock curled up into a ball next to a palm.

"See that you learn your lesson," his father sneered, before he left Sherlock alone in the winter garden. The thunderstorm drowned Sherlock`s sobs for the next few hours.

 

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut at that memory. Mycroft had found him the next morning, after his parents had forgotten to fetch Sherlock for breakfast. His brother hadn`t scolded Sherlock for disturbing their parents or losing his teddy bear as Sherlock had feared he would do. Instead, Mycroft had carried Sherlock back to his room, tucked him in bed and even brought him tea and toast after their parents had left for the day.

 

Sherlock still remembered how they had searched the garden for Teddy in the afternoon and found him, drenched and torn in a tree. They had buried him in the rose garden. Mycroft had held Sherlock as he cried his heart out. He had been sure that he would never again own a cuddly toy, but only a couple of days later, a new teddy had sat on his bed.

 

Sherlock rubbed his teary face against the fur of his only friend. With the teddy came the promise that Sherlock could come to Mycroft, whenever he was afraid of a thunderstorm - or anything else. Since the thunderstorms mostly occurred during the summer months, when his older brother was back at home, it had worked out perfectly for Sherlock these last four years. He had gone to Mycroft - accompanied by his teddy - and snuggled into bed with his older brother. Sherlock would have done so tonight as well if... if he didn`t know that he wasn`t welcome in his brother`s room.

 

A sob caught in Sherlock`s throat as he clutched his teddy tighter. It was his fault that Mycroft hated him now.

 

The blood was still warm. Sherlock felt it through the thin layer of his latex gloves as he cut the rabbit open. It hadn`t been dead for long and Sherlock was excited to see the organs for real. He had read an anatomy book at school and he was curious to know how the organs of a rabbit looked like. They should be smaller than the organs of humans, but they should mostly be in the same places and have the same shapes. At least, that was Sherlock`s theory as he put the knife aside on the kitchen table and leaned over the rabbit to peer inside. It was at that moment that Mycroft entered the kitchen. "Sherlock, I..."

Never would Sherlock forget the look of utter shock and disgust on his brother`s face as he looked at him from the doorway. The disgust wasn`t aimed at the dead rabbit as Mycroft`s words proved a second later. "You little freak! Throw that away and clean the table!"

Sherlock was then left alone in the kitchen with the dead rabbit, his brother not even glancing his way once more, before he left.

 

Sherlock didn`t understand what he had done wrong. After all, it had only been a science project. Maybe, it had been wrong to use the kitchen table for it, but that didn`t explain Mycroft`s words.

 

Freak!

 

Sherlock gasped in some air and released it in a sob. He hated that word. The children at school had thrown it often enough at him, when Sherlock had made some minor deductions about someone... or when he had confessed to his music teacher that he loved classical music. It was another proof of how different Sherlock was from everyone else, but he had never thought that Mycroft thought so little of him as well. The realisation that his own brother believed that Sherlock was an abomination of nature - Sherlock had looked that up - hurt. It was worse than the ongoing thunderstorm, worse than being beaten up in sports, worse than the scornful looks of his parents, whenever they glanced Sherlock`s way, because... because...

 

A dry sob hitched in his throat and faint tremors ran down his back. He was alone! There was no one there anymore, who cared for him. Mycroft wouldn`t look at him twice, when Sherlock went to Eton after the summer break. No big brother anymore, who would comfort Sherlock, when someone was mean to him. And his peers at Eton would be mean to him, Sherlock didn`t allow himself any illusions about that.

 

How high were the chances that you were hit by a lightening if you ventured outside in a thunderstorm, Sherlock wondered. Probably not high enough to be worth a try, although it would make everything easier for everyone, if he was lucky. Mycroft wouldn`t have to worry about being associated with his freaky brother, mother and father didn`t have to put up with him when they were at home for once and Sherlock...

 

The door to his room cracked open. Sherlock held his breath as the well known figure of his brother stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Mycroft crossed the room with long and secure strides, before he finally stood in front of Sherlock`s bed.

 

Usually, the presence of his big brother would calm Sherlock, but tonight it only added up to his fears. If Mycroft thought of him the same way everyone else did, what would stop him from treating Sherlock like they did?

 

The lamp on his nightstand was switched on and Sherlock squinted in the brighter light. He pressed himself closer into the corner, trying to bring as much distance between himself and his brother. Mycroft was just standing there - clad in his pajamas - and wearing an unreadable expression on his face.

 

"Are you going to lock me in the winter garden and throw my teddy away?" Sherlock hated how his voice cracked at these simple words. Obviously, it wasn`t the best idea to reveal the perfect way of punishing him to Mycroft, but Sherlock was too tired to care about that. If Mycroft was to punish him like his father had done years ago, then... Sherlock at least wouldn`t have to care about anything anymore. In that case, it wouldn`t make a difference if Sherlock stopped bothering with the stupid tests at school - that he usually aced - because no one would praise him for it ever again.

 

"No, of course not!"

 

Sherlock peeked up at his brother. Usually, it was impossible - even for him - to tell what Mycroft was feeling, but he looked fairly sick right now. His face had paled and his grey eyes appeared brighter than usual. Sherlock didn`t know what he should make of that, but he didn`t flinch away as his brother sat down on his bed and extended a hand to Sherlock. It could be a ruse, Sherlock knew that, but it didn`t matter. If Mycroft was here to punish him, then it wouldn`t make a difference, if Sherlock stayed in his corner or came closer to his brother. And if he wasn`t here to punish him... Sherlock didn`t allow himself to get his hopes up as he inched closer to his brother.

 

A squeal escaped his lips as Mycroft`s arm wrapped around his waist and pressed him against his side. Sherlock felt his own heart hammering against his ribcage as he concentrated on taking one deep breath after another. It was never a good idea to panic. If you panicked, it only made you more vulnerable. That lesson had been beaten into Sherlock - not quite literally - from as long as he could remember. So, he stayed perfectly still as Mycroft`s hand started to rub his shoulder soothingly. "Sherlock, I have to know," Sherlock peeked up at his older brother, who wore a thoughtful expression on his face. "What did you do to the rabbit?"

 

A frown appeared on Sherlock`s face. "I cut it open." It should have been obvious and Mycroft hated to inquire about obvious things. Maybe, that really was a trick and if Sherlock didn`t give the right answers, then his brother would really punish him. Not that he had ever so much as raised a hand to Sherlock, but that made it all the more frightening. "Why did you cut it open?"

 

Sherlock stiffened. He didn`t know what Mycroft wanted to hear, but not answering the question was probably as bad as giving the wrong answer. "I wanted to see how its organs look and compare them to the human organs that were printed in one of the anatomy books from school."

 

Sherlock felt Mycroft`s gaze on him, but he didn`t dare looking up. Instead he focused on the teddy in his arms. If his brother was to take it away from him, Sherlock knew that he would never get another cuddly toy. No one would gift him with one and if Sherlock got himself one then it would be taken away from him in a matter of days. He wasn`t fool enough to not realize that.

 

"Did you kill the rabbit?"

 

Sherlock`s head snapped up at the question as he stared at his brother in shock. "No! Of course not! A dog chased it across the field and at some point it just," Sherlock shrugged as he recalled the event. "It just collapsed and the dog lost interest in it. When I got there it was already... dead. I just wanted to... Please, I won`t do it again." His eyes were starting to burn anew as Sherlock squeezed them shut to stop the tears from falling. If he had known that his stupid curiosity would make his brother hate him, then... then...

 

He gasped in surprise as strong arms suddenly lifted him and Sherlock found himself sitting in Mycroft`s lap, an arm around his waist and the other running through his curls. "Mycroft?"

 

"I`m sorry, Sherlock." A kiss was pressed to his head and Sherlock squinted to turn around to his brother, but Mycroft`s arm held him in place. "When I saw that rabbit on the kitchen table, I thought... that you had killed it. Forgive me, that was... stupid of me. I should have known better."

 

Suddenly everything made a lot more sense. Sherlock had overheard enough conversations between his parents and his teachers to understand where Mycroft was coming from. Some of his teachers thought that Sherlock should see a therapist, because they were of the opinion that something was wrong with his head. Sherlock didn`t allow himself the illusion that his parents were of a different opinion, just because he had never seen a therapist in his life. They just didn`t care one way or the other. So, it wasn`t farfetched that Mycroft would think along these lines as well, when he had caught Sherlock with a dead rabbit in the kitchen.

 

"You think I`m a freak." It wasn`t a question and Sherlock was surprised, when Mycroft still replied. "No, I don`t... Sherlock," He was turned around so that Sherlock was kneeling on Mycroft`s thighs and was able to meet the gaze of his brother. He looked sad, Sherlock realized after a second. "I don`t think that you are a freak, because you are not. I just," Mycroft sighed and suddenly looked more tired than ever before. "Mother asked me if I thought your behavior was normal and if I thought you should see a therapist. I said No, of course," Mycroft added, before Sherlock could say anything to that. "But, see... she listed all kinds of peculiar behaviors that she had read on some pamphlet and it got stuck in my head. When I saw you with the dead rabbit, I was reminded of a few of them and I overreacted. I`m sorry, Sherlock, I should have asked you what that was about, instead of acting like I did."

 

Sherlock nodded slowly. It was all he could do, since Mycroft`s apologizes had rendered him speechless. His brother usually didn`t apologize, but if he did... he meant it. Sherlock relaxed a little. Mycroft hadn`t come to punish him.

 

"So, you don`t hate me?"

 

Grey eyes widened as they stared down at him, but before Sherlock could take his question back, he was pressed against the broad chest of his brother - his teddy sandwiched between them. "No, Sherlock, I don`t hate you. I could never hate you! You are my baby brother," Sherlock tried to pout at that, but only managed a smile as warmth spread through his chest. "I could never hate you, no matter what you do." Soft lips were pressed to his tousled curls and Sherlock only caught the next words, because he strained his ears. "I love you!" Sherlock didn`t give any indication that he had heard his brother, except for snuggling closer to him and pressing his face into his pajama top. They stayed like that for some time.

 

It was still storming outside - the thunderstorm hadn`t decreased in the slightest - but Sherlock wasn`t afraid anymore. He knew that he was safe in his brother`s arms and he didn`t protest as Mycroft shifted them around until they were snuggled together underneath the covers. "Do you think you can sleep now?" Mycroft stroked his curls gently and after a second, Sherlock nodded. He was very tired by now, the crying had drained him and his eyes were starting to grow heavy as he cuddled against his brother. Sherlock still managed to ask one last question, before he fell asleep. "Will you stay?"

 

Mycroft`s voice appeared to come from far away - although he was still lying in bed with him - as Sherlock grew more sleepy with every second. Still, the words reached Sherlock, before sleep could completely claim him and there meaning gave him something to hold onto in the future, if everything became too much to bear.

 

"I made a promise to be at your side, whenever you would need me and I`ll never break it, brother mine."


End file.
